₦airaland Forum

Dear Writers,

We are currently in need of guest writers at:

Hoperite.com

Get in touch with us: info@hoperite.com

Let's publish your short stories and poetry.

Thank you.

ajagunhope33:
Guest posting or ghost writing?
And how much per story?

Both options are available.

Dm @

Info@hoperite.com

Do you write short intriguing stories and poetry?

If yes, guest blog on our website:

https://www.hoperite.com/




Don't waste your talent. Get paid when your story is accepted.
Send your stories/poetry here:

info@hoperite.com

Reviews!

ODE TO AN IJEBU MAN



Akinwande in English Britannica

He is not from America

But an erudite African

Speaking pen like pelican

A staple hymn in Nigeria

Oozing intelligence beyond his literary area



Oluwole in Africa hymn

Is rooted like a beam

Short spoon dinning with the devils

Vituperating against resident evils

Frictionally plaguing his beloved home

He flew into half of a yellow sun home

Troubleshooting African giant and seceding land

Yet was lambasted and incarcerated by giant band

Towards the demise of the sixties

His feats and feet walked the cities



Wole in Nigeria happenstances

Poke many erring apex thrones and circumstances

Mostly with his pointed arrow pen

Fostering them to build the pen

Or demand their immediate vacation

Through marching placards and vituperation

His sneeze makes them shiver

Within not without unyielding quiver





Soyinka in world books

Was wanted and detained in midnight rains

Severely wiped marked in trial of brother Jero among crooks

Yet the Egba and Isara-Ijebu deity reigns

Frightening even the Lion and the Jewel

Hijacking the air studio to broadcast in towel

The journey in the crypt of a region malpractice

Before a collapse of the regional masterpiece...

Read more: https://hoperite.com/Poetry/

THE DAY JOLIE DIED

It was the loud silence that announced her death. Every dawn of the day, her greetings to her neighbors usually cascade down her balcony. The old soldier’s grandchildren will chorus their greetings, and the young couples on the right bungalow will wave with a morning smile.

That Thursday was different. The grandchildren waited in vain for Jolie’s greeting before their school bus arrived.

They continue to stare at the balcony waiting to catch a glimpse of her as their bus driver rave-up the vehicle.

The young couple’s morning was similarly not complete. They loitered their Veranda with eyes fixed to the now illuminated and void yard. Her Rottweiler didn’t echo her greetings as usual. The familiar barks that mimicks Jolie’s “Good morning” was mute.

She stares at the couples. As she walks to the back and forth spaces. An unusual fidgeting of sort.

Mrs. Timmy swore she saw a teardrop.

Her husband waves her off despite his conviction.

“Something is wrong”

“Not again”

Mrs. Timmy walked towards Jolie’s pedestrian gate. It was left ajar.

The Rottweiler was at the gate when she opened it. This is the same mammal she dreads so much that made her rarely visit Jolie.

Not today.

She pushes through the metallic gate and follows her fear. The ‘beast’ leads the way as she ghostly does trail behind it.

Read more:

https://hoperite.com/